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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26767723">Whumptober 2020</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammy_whammy_whumperflies/pseuds/sammy_whammy_whumperflies'>sammy_whammy_whumperflies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - No Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Misses Sam Winchester, Dean doesn't leave Sam at the dock, Dean is smarter than that come on people, Dean's apple pie life, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Monster of the Week, Panic Attacks, Passing Out, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Has a Fear of Clowns, Sam Winchester in Lucifer's Cage, Sam Winchester stands up for himself, The Voicemail, or at least he tries...muahahaha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:22:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,286</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26767723</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammy_whammy_whumperflies/pseuds/sammy_whammy_whumperflies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
            <p>Woohoo here we go! My first time participating in Whumptober! I've got a prompt ready for each day so I'm really gonna try hard to get them all written this month.</p><p>All of these prompts are going to be for Supernatural. Mayyyybe some hurt!Dean, but mostly hurt!Sam.</p>
          </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Waking Up Restrained</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Woohoo here we go! My first time participating in Whumptober! I've got a prompt ready for each day so I'm really gonna try hard to get them all written this month.</p><p>All of these prompts are going to be for Supernatural. Mayyyybe some hurt!Dean, but mostly hurt!Sam.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt 1: Waking Up Restrained</p><p>Summary: Sam and Dean find a hunt at a creepy rundown amusement park. Neither of them can decide what the monster of the week sounds like. They are not prepared.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Dude, the more research I’m doing, the more I don’t like the sound of this one.”  Sam leaned back in the shitty chair in their shitty motel room, stretching his arms above his head with a frown.</p><p>Dean tilted his head out of the open bathroom door, toothbrush hanging from his mouth.  “Why?  I thought it was an open and shut wendigo case.”</p><p>Sam snorted.  “You’re drooling toothpaste all over yourself.”</p><p>Dean looked down at his now wet shirt and shrugged, pulling it over his head.  “So what’s got your panties in a knot this time?”</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Sam leaned forward in his chair again, waving vaguely at his laptop screen.  “It may be nothing.  But there’s been several rumors floating around online that indicate it might not be a wendigo at all.”</p><p>Now frowning himself, Dean spit into the sink and dropped his toothbrush into his bag on his way over to hover over Sam’s shoulder.  “What exactly are they saying?”</p><p>Valiantly ignoring the fact that his brother’s naked chest was millimeters away from his back, Sam brought up window after window of internet pages.  “There’s witnesses—who’ve all remained frustratingly anonymous—that claim they’ve seen glimpses of what’s actually out there killing people.” He paused, hesitant to actually reveal what some of them had supposedly seen.</p><p>Dean shoved Sam’s hand aside impatiently, scrolling down the topmost internet page and skimming through the information.  Before Sam could successfully wrestle back control of his laptop, Dean let out a surprised bark of laughter.</p><p>“They can’t be serious!”</p><p>Sam shrugged.  “There’s tons of websites all with completely different stories, Dean, but all of them include people disappearing under mysterious and suspicious circumstances.  What if they know something we don’t?  One of them has to be correct.  We can’t just discount them, no matter how crazy it sounds.”  He huffed out a breath.  “Crazy is in our everyday job description.”</p><p>Dean twisted his neck to give his brother an unimpressed look.  “Sam, are you serious?  Did you even <em> read </em> this?”  He cleared his throat before reading out loud in an exaggerated ghost story voice, “’There’s an abandoned amusement park in Wichita called Joyland.  It’s been in disrepair for <em> years </em> .  When the park closed its doors for the last time, Louie the animatronic clown went missing.  No one knows where it ended up.  They originally suspected the owner’s brother had stolen him because he was Louie’s caretaker, but they’ve never been able to prove it.  Ever since the park closed, there have been rumors that Louie can be seen wandering the park, and anyone who dares to venture inside its gates is never….‘  Oh, <em> come on</em>, Sammy!  You don’t really believe this crap, do you?  This is like the worst girl scout camp ghost story I’ve ever heard!”</p><p>Shrugging, Sam minimized the window Dean had been reading from.  “This account sounds a little more realistic, at least by our standards.  ‘The rollercoaster was the site of a deadly accident in 1998, when the groundskeeper stood up under the track and was hit in the head by the car.  The ride was immediately closed, and eventually reopened with a new name, ‘Nightmare’.’  No mention of the employee’s name anywhere.”  Sam’s eyes shot back and forth across the screen, speed reading through the rest.  “Blah blah blah the ride was never the same…it began to malfunction almost regularly…they eventually had to shut it down.... It says that by the time the park was nearing its final closing the rollercoaster had been so badly damaged it was eventually dismantled and parts of it were used to repair other parts of the park.”</p><p>Hearing no response from Dean, Sam leaned back and raised his eyebrows at his brother, willing him to catch on.  “Angry spirit?  Still attached to the ride that killed him?  The ride that was dismantled and spread throughout the park?”</p><p>Dean snorted.  “That’s stretching, Sam, even for us.”  He opened another internet window.  “’When I broke into Joyland with my friends, we never expected what happened next.  My best friend disappeared, and I swear it sounds crazy, but she was carried away by some sort of shadow monster.  We heard her screams echoing in the park but we never found her.  The police couldn’t find her either, and the search party looked for days.  Nobody believed me when I said I’d seen a creature take her.  Even the friend I was with said it sounded like I was lying.  My friend is still missing and nobody believes me.’”  Dean smacked his hand on the table.  “See, Sam?  Shadowy creature.  Carried away.  She could hear her friend’s voice for a while, but nobody found her.  It’s a wendigo.”</p><p>Humming a noncommittal sound, Sam flicked through a few more webpages, but they’d all been similarly vague stories, and all of them had been submitted anonymously.</p><p>Closing the laptop and slouching in his chair, Sam blew out a breath.  “Dean, something about this just doesn’t feel right.  And it’s not like we can interview anyone involved.  The owner of the park is dead, the storage building where they kept all of their employment records burned down years ago, and the only fulltime employee who worked there died under the rollercoaster.  Everyone else would have been temporary summer help and who knows how we could track them down without the original records?”</p><p>Dean shrugged.  “Sounds like good old-fashioned casing out the joint, eh Sammy?”  He elbowed his brother less-than-gently and stepped over to his bed, pulling a shirt out of his bag.  “Let’s get going.  We’ve got us a <em> wendigo </em> to fry!”  Emphasizing his words pointedly, Dean pulled on his shirt and started digging through the weapons bag, making sure the usual gear was packed.</p><p>Sam rolled his eyes.  “Fine.  But we’re still bringing the salt rounds.  Believe me, Dean, even if it isn’t a spirit, I’d still prefer a wendigo over an evil clown any day.”</p>
<hr/><p>“Ow!  Son of a bitch!”</p><p>Sam snorted a laugh as his brother kicked his leg out, trying to dislodge the piece of metal stuck to his pants.  All of the paths had been overgrown, so they’d been forced to traipse through the tall, unkempt grass and weeds.  Both of them had been tripping over and running into hidden debris from the park, but Dean seemed to be the unluckier of the two, having found the most pieces to trip over.</p><p>Having successfully flailed enough to cause the metal shard to go flying, Dean did a full body growl.  “We’re gonna need about a dozen tetanus shots when we get outta this crapfest.”  Rounding on his brother, he added, “And why are there so many freakin’ buildings in this place?!”</p><p>Sam released a frustrated breath.  “If you’d bothered to listen to me on the way over here, you would know that most of the buildings have collapsed or been burned down by now.  There’s less than a dozen left standing.  But that still leaves a few rides that had extended sections of partially covered areas, like the log flume and the mining cave.  And if this area doesn’t turn up anything, there’s always the acres of woods out back we can explore….”  Sam gestured for Dean to take the lead, letting his grumbling older brother choose the next structure to gingerly step through.</p><p>They’d already cautiously searched two of the buildings.  Some of them had second floors, but most of the wood had rotted through and there was barely anyplace to take a step without fear of falling straight through to the ground floor.  The structures that had collapsed were just piles of rotting boards, some themed characters or pieces of the rides sticking out in odd places, and patches of overgrown weeds and trees attempting to reclaim the area.</p><p>Instead of entering one of the remaining buildings, Dean led them into what looked to have been part of the town square of the tiny themed village in the center of the amusement park.  He walked up to an eight foot tall weirdly shaped fiberglass structure and paused, turning to raise an eyebrow at Sam, before circling slowly around it.  Sam followed warily, realizing belatedly that they were looking at a giant, fat mushroom with most of its faded paint having chipped off.  Once Dean got to the other side of the mushroom, he visibly startled and immediately raised his flare gun, shouting, “<em>Holy </em> shit!”</p><p>Sam’s eyes widened and he aimed down the sight of his own flare gun, flanking Dean as quickly as he could.  As he caught sight of what had upset Dean, he understood his brother’s reaction.  Tilting his head, trying to understand what he was looking at, he glanced at Dean.  “Is that a…a <em> pig</em>?”</p><p>Dean leaned forward and prodded at it with the end of his flare gun.  It didn’t react, and he visibly relaxed his stance.  “What in the hell is this thing?!”</p><p>Sam lowered his weapon, eyes taking in everything.  There were two rickety shutters, one of which was hanging on by a single screw, and they were framing a window-shaped hole in the side of the mushroom.  Above the window were the faded, cheerfully cursive words, “Ol’ Porky the Paper Eater”.  And inside the window, in all his glory, was the remains of Ol’ Porky himself.  Ol’ Porky was a wooden pig head, with huge, staring, soulless eyes that were facing slightly different directions, and at the end of its way-too-cheerful snout was a large round hole.</p><p>“It’s…is that a tube?  What…?”  Trying to make sense of what in God’s name was staring eerily at both of them at the same time, Sam’s perplexed gaze roved over the whole structure.  The phrase “paper eater” struck him suddenly, and he leaned closer to peer into the tube in Ol’ Porky’s mouth.  “Wait.  Is this like a vacuum?  Is this some sort of garbage can?”</p><p>Dean tore his disgusted stare away from the pig and looked at his brother for a moment.  “A suction powered vacuum in a tiny theme park?”  He rolled his eyes before his face broke out into a grin.  “Hey, Sammy, how many guys do you think tried to stick their—”</p><p>“Oh my God, Dean, shut up <em> now</em>.”</p><p>Chuckling, Dean turned his back on the monstrosity and continued on his way towards one of the few standing structures, a building that was decidedly leaning more to the left than it should be.  Based on the name “Whacky Shack” on the crooked sign, it was hard to tell if the building was lopsided because of the deterioration or because of its original design.</p><p>“This building is looking at us….”  Dean commented offhandedly, and Sam looked up at where his brother had pointed with his flare gun.  The top of the building rose into a sharp point that was reminiscent of a witch’s hat, and there were two angled windows near the top that indeed looked like glaring eyes.  Complete with the dangling sign underneath them, it looked like an angry face was frowning down at them.</p><p>“I can see why the locals consider this place haunted.  It seems like it was frickin’ creepy before it even closed down.”</p><p>Sam hummed in agreement, before he mentally flipped through what he’d learned online about the park. “Dean, this is the ride that has a mine shaft inside the building, and there’s apparently two stories to it.  I’m not sure if the track goes underground or not, but if it does, that seems like as good a place as any for a wendigo to hide out.”  They both pulled out their flashlights, and Dean caught his brother’s eye before they moved in sync towards the entrance.  </p><p>Dean had only made it two steps into the doorway before the remaining loudspeakers screeched to life all around the park.  Thunderously loud pipe organ and marching band instruments blasted through the speakers, sliding in and out of tune every few measures.   Slamming their hands to their ears, the brothers whipped around, trying to find the source of the sound.</p><p>“What the hell is that?!”</p><p>“How is it even playing?  There’s no way there’s electricity here anymore!”</p><p>The music showed no signs of stopping, and the brothers eyed each other before Dean shrugged, still yelling to be heard over the noise.  “It only started playing when we started coming in here, so I’d bet that’s a sign.  Not sure what that sign means, but it’s a sign of something.”</p><p>Sam uncovered his ears, resigned to the music becoming a constant companion during their search.</p><p>Taking point again, Dean started into the Whacky Shack.  Just then the music cut off mid-note.  The brothers froze, their ears ringing, straining to hear any unexpected noises in the sudden silence.</p><p>“Alright, that was too freakin’ weird.”</p><p>Sam couldn’t resist baiting, “Still think it’s a wendigo Dean?”</p><p>Dean turned towards his brother with a pissed off sneer.  “Alright, you know what, Sam?  You can—<em>JESUS</em>!“  Dean’s eyes widened, and he dropped his flare gun, scrambling for the gun he had tucked into the back of his jeans.  Sam spun around, reaching for his own handgun, but was too late to see what was behind him before something struck him across the face, throwing him across the room.  His vision faded to black to the sound of Dean shouting his name.</p>
<hr/><p>Sam slowly regained consciousness to the sound of organ pipes playing uncomfortably close to his ears.  Frowning and twitching, trying to rid himself of the sound, he snapped fully awake upon realizing that the reason he couldn’t cover his ears was because his hands had been bound tightly together, and he was currently dangling by his wrists from the ceiling.  He shifted his weight, trying to relieve the pressure on his hands and shoulders, and he could barely balance on the tips of the toes of his boots.  The rope was tied too tightly for him to wriggle his hands enough to free himself.</p><p>Shifting his attention to his surroundings, he startled in realization that he was hanging up in the building he and Dean had started to explore, and that about ten feet in front of him was a massive organ taking up the entirety of the wall.  At the very top it was identified as a Wurlitzer Pipe Organ, but Sam didn’t take the time to dwell on anything else after noticing that there was something sitting at the organ’s keys.  Immediately upon identifying what he was looking at, Sam’s entire body stiffened, and he felt cold sweat begin to trickle down his back.  Unable to look away, Sam watched frozen with apprehension as the figure sitting on the organ bench continued rocking from side to side in time with the music.  The instruments in the organ kept blaring, and every so often their notes would warble and warp into something sinister and eerie for a few seconds before returning to their cheerful tune.</p><p>Just as Sam realized that there was a mirror attached to the music stand overlooking the organ’s keys, Louie the clown turned its head to stare directly at Sam’s reflection.  Sam’s breath froze in his throat, and his body went completely rigid with instant terror.  The animatronic clown began waving at him in the mirror, still rocking its body back and forth to the rhythm.  The song began to slow down, warbling beyond all recognition, before it finally stopped with one last prolonged dissonant chord that echoed throughout the room.</p><p>In the sudden silence, Sam could hear his frantic heartbeat thudding in his ears, and he wasn’t proud of the whimper that escaped when Louie slowly spun around on the bench to face him directly.  The animatronic moved agonizingly slowly to its feet, and as soon as it took its first step towards him instant panic jolted through Sam as if he’d been electrocuted.  </p><p>He had to get out get out get OUT</p><p>Sam thrashed frantically, but all the good his writhing did was rubbing his wrists raw and swinging himself back and forth, the toes of his boots scraping along the floor.  Meanwhile the clown kept shuffling closer, the poofy, flowy costume swaying and its ceramic shoes clacking on the hardwood floor.  </p><p>It stopped just short of Sam’s personal space.  The huge multicolored ruff around the clown’s neck brushed up against Sam’s heaving chest, and he violently threw his upper body backwards, scraping his boots against the ground to kick and flail his way out of its reach.  Unfortunately he was strung up too high off the ground to be able to control what his body could do, and the rope forced him to stay relatively still and swing quickly back towards Louie.  Frantically scrabbling at the floor with his boot tips, Sam just managed to stop his forward momentum mid-swing.  </p><p>The animatronic stood motionless, simply watching Sam with its bright blue glass eyes.  Louie’s head was glossy, though its shine had dulled over the years, and the painted facial features had smeared and partially worn off in places, giving the clown’s crooked, blood red grin a grotesquely twisted appearance.  The only sound in the room was the soft creaking of the rope as Sam’s body trembled so hard he was practically vibrating, and the harsh panting breaths that were punching in and out of him.  Between gulps for air, Sam kept trying to work his voice past the lump of fear in his throat, but he couldn’t make a single sound, not even to call for his brother.</p><p>All that changed when the clown suddenly jerked back into movement, and Sam sucked in a particularly loud terrified gasp.  Louie’s facial expression remained frozen on its ceramic face, even as its realistically flesh-colored hand raised slowly towards Sam’s face.  Rearing his head back as far as possible, whimpering noises escaping with every panicked exhale, Sam was finally able to force a choked sound out of his tightening throat.  </p><p>“N…n-no…”</p><p>Louie’s cold ceramic hand slid across Sam’s cheek, and his body stiffened as his vision whited out.  Completely immobilized by terror, Sam’s subconscious did the only thing it could.</p><p>“<em>DEAN</em>!”</p><p>Dean kicked down the rotting door, angrily wiping blood out of his eye from the head wound he’d received when Louie had thrown him completely through the wall of the Wacky Shack like a goddamn cartoon character.  Taking only seconds to locate Sam, he aimed his gun and fired a salt round into the bastard threatening his little brother.</p><p>Louie immediately crashed to the floor, and Dean made his way over to his brother, a concerned frown on his face.  Something was wrong.  “Sammy?” </p><p>It seemed that once Sam had forced his brother’s name out, a switch had been flipped.  Between each rasp for breath, he was repeating <em> no no no </em> and stuttering Dean’s name over and over again, seemingly unable to stop.</p><p>“Sam?  Hey, Sam, he’s gone.  It’s me.”  Dean brushed the hair out of Sam’s face, trying to get him to focus on him, but his brother’s eyes were glazed over and unseeing and Sam flinched violently away from the contact, voice rising in volume and desperation as he repeatedly called out Dean’s name between gasps for air.  “Sam!  Dude, take a breath!  You’re gonna pass out!”</p><p>Dean debated whether to leave his oblivious brother hanging for a few more minutes or to cut him down.  It was obvious Sam was too far gone in his head to even realize Dean was there, and that gave Dean a twinge of panic of his own, but he tamped it down for now.  He was (begrudgingly) sure it really was a spirit they were dealing with, and the salt rounds would only work for so long before the bastard came back for round two.  Not wanting to startle his brother into an even worse panic attack, he avoided his usual tactile comfort of patting him on the shoulder before turning away to start searching the room for what the spirit could be connected to.  </p><p>“Alright, Sammy.  Just gonna check over Chuckles here, see if there’s anything….”  Dean turned the animatronic over and pulled at the costume, but nothing stood out to him.  “I’ll just be on the other side of the room, Sam.  Be right back.”  He headed over to the Wurlitzer organ that sat ominously staring down at them.  Pleading with whomever would listen that it wouldn’t be a random instrument hidden inside that he’d have to dig for, Dean started by checking over the wooden bench the clown would sit on while “playing” the organ.  As he moved to the front of the seat, he noticed that the spot for the clown to sit on wasn’t painted the same color as the rest of it.  Bending down for a closer look, he realized that there was something carved in it.</p><p>“’Roller Coaster Car 1’, huh?  Clever, guys.”  Rolling his eyes at the lack of imagination that went into naming the ride, he peered around the room for a crowbar or something to wrench the piece of wood off the seat.  “Really?  A whole park of wreckage and there’s not one damned…”  He trailed off, eyeing the bench, then shrugged, picking the whole thing up.  Thankfully it wasn’t too heavy, and Dean headed straight for the window and dropped it carelessly down to the ground.  Pulling the weapons bag off his shoulder, he grabbed the salt and lighter fluid, pouring both out the window.</p><p>Hearing scraping sounds from his left, he yanked the lighter out of his pocket and snapped it open, quickly lighting it and dropping it onto the clown’s bench.  Just as it lit in an impressive little fireball, he turned to see that Louie had started to stand up, only to seize grotesquely, enveloped in flames, before the spirit dissipated and the clown was left behind in a heap of ripped tatters and rusted metal.  It was apparent that the spirit had been keeping some semblance of normalcy to Louie’s appearance, and Dean noted in disgust that the paint on the clown’s face had almost completely worn off, leaving just the glass eyes staring out of a blank ceramic face.</p><p>Kicking the thing out of the way, Dean moved back in front of Sam.  By now his eyes were fluttering on the edge of unconsciousness, and his power of speech had been reduced back to soft whimpers in between pathetic gasps for breath.  “Sam?  Hey, it’s gone now.  <em> Sam </em> .  Come on, man, snap out of it.  <em> Sammy</em>!”  Dean was seriously starting to freak out.  Sam had never had a reaction this bad before, and certainly not one that had lasted this long.  </p><p>“Okay, kiddo, let’s get you down now.”  Sam didn’t acknowledge Dean at all, nor did he react when Dean wrapped a supportive arm around Sam’s back.  Biting his lip as anxiety shot through him anew, he flipped his knife out and sawed through the rope.  Sam came loose with a soft groan, legs completely unsupportive and his full body weight crashed into his brother.  Dean staggered for a moment, valiantly trying to keep Sam upright, but ultimately both brothers fell heavily to their knees.</p><p>Dean grimaced from the hard landing, but quickly sucked it up and ignored the twinge in both kneecaps.  He pushed Sam’s limp shoulders backwards to peer at his face.  “Sam?  Hey, you in there?”  With a gentle shake, Dean tried to bring Sam’s awareness back to reality.  “Sammy.  Hey, come on, man.  Slow it down.  You’re gonna pass out at this rate.  Sam?  You hearin’ me?”  </p><p>Well past concerned, Dean shifted his grip on his brother to support him in one arm.  He rested the other hand over Sam’s rapidly heaving chest, feeling his lungs stuttering.  “Sam.  I’ve got you.  Sammy?  You’re missing the mother of all chick flick moments here.  Just breathe with me, okay?”  He started rubbing his hand gently over his brother’s frantic heartbeat.  </p><p>Trying not to panic at the lack of response, Dean clenched his fist and gave Sam a firm sternal rub, hoping this would jar him into awareness.  After no reaction, he tried again, and this prompted a breathy moan and a flicker of discomfort on Sam’s otherwise checked out expression.  “There you go.  Come on.”  Changing tactics, Dean switched hands and gently slapped Sam’s cheek, desperate to rouse his brother.  “Alright, Sam, come back now.  Sam?  Whoa<em> --SHIT</em>!”</p><p>Dean scrambled to catch his little brother as Sam finally lost his grip on consciousness and went completely limp, nosediving straight to the floor.  “Dammit, Sam!”  Heaving his brother back up and resting his head in the crook of his arm, he used the other hand to check for a pulse.  Relieved to find Sam’s heart beating strongly, steadily slowing from its previous racing, he also took note of Sam’s evening out breaths.  He lowered his head to his brother’s chest for a moment, giving himself time to let his own nerves settle.</p><p>“Alright, Sammy.  You take a break now.”  He gently lowered his brother’s unconscious body to the floor, brushing his hair out of his face.  “I’ll take care of Tim Curry over here so you don’t try to pull another oxygen-free moment.”</p><p>Not waiting for a response he knew he wasn’t going to get, he got to his feet and kicked the remains of the animatronic clown over towards the window.  Gathering its now ragged frame up, Louie’s ceramic head fell backwards and folded the whole clown body in half.  Dean grimaced in disgust.  “Think I’ve got a better idea now of what Sam finds creepy about you assholes.”  He dropped the body unapologetically out the window.  Taking a certain pleasure out of salting and soaking the clown with lighter fluid, he watched with satisfaction as the whole thing caught fire with an impressive whoosh.</p><p>A shuffling sound to his left struck Dean with sudden déjà vu, and as he turned to look from the smoldering remains outside the window to make sure there wasn’t another unwelcome visitor, he heard a familiar groan.  Sam’s head rolled from side to side a few times as he started to regain consciousness, and as Dean started towards him, he saw Sam’s face twitch into a frown.  Dean rushed the rest of the way to his brother’s side just as Sam’s breathing quickened and he sat bolt upright with a shout.</p><p>“<em>Dean</em>!”</p><p>“Whoa, hey, you’re okay Sammy, I’m right here.”  Dean gripped Sam’s upper arms, trying to gain eye contact with his wide eyed, panting brother.  “Sam, slow it down or you’re going to pass out again.  Sam!”  He shook Sam once, and his brother’s gaze finally caught onto his.  “Hey.  You hearin’ me?”</p><p>Sam shuddered hard, his eyes breaking away to dart around the room.  Dean shook him again, more gently this time.  “Sammy.  Hey.  It’s gone.  I burned the bitch.  Just you and me now, okay little brother?”</p><p>The endearment seemed to calm something in Sam, and he sagged forwards, completely exhausted.  His forehead landed on Dean’s shoulder, and his body gave another weak tremble.</p><p>Dean kept one hand under Sam’s arm, and used the other one to grip Sam’s neck.  “Just breathe, Sam.  I’ve got you.”  He tilted his head to the side to peek over at his brother’s face.  “Hey.  You with me now?”</p><p>Sam nodded into Dean’s shoulder, then pushed himself upwards.  Dean was relieved to note that Sam’s breathing had slowed down to mostly normal, but Sam was pointedly avoiding making eye contact.  Barely suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Dean squeezed the back of Sam’s neck before sliding his hand up to the side of his face.  “Sam.”</p><p>Sam glanced up at Dean, then quickly away, scowling lightly.</p><p>Dean <em> did </em> roll his eyes at that.  “Come on, Sam.  I’m not gonna laugh at you.”</p><p>Sam finally made eye contact with his brother, but only to give him a look of complete skepticism.</p><p>Unable to keep the grin off his face, Dean amended, “Well…not <em> today</em>, anyway.”</p><p>Sam scrubbed his hands over his face.  “Ugh, shut up, Jerk.”</p><p>“Bitch.”</p><p>There was a comfortable silence between them, before Dean clapped his hand on Sam’s cheek none-too-gently.  Sam squawked indignantly, slapping Dean’s hand away, and Dean laughed as he got to his feet and helped his brother up.  </p><p>Watching Dean repack the weapons bag, Sam smirked.  “…I knew it wasn’t a wendigo.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up.”</p><p>“I’m never gonna let you live it down….”</p><p>“Alright, that’s it.”  Dean threw the heavy duffel roughly into Sam’s stomach and turned his back on his brother’s startled whoosh of air.  He headed down the stairs to the exit without bothering to make sure Sam was following him.</p><p>Sam threw the bag’s strap over his shoulder before rushing to catch up to his brother, an unrepentant smile on his face the whole time. </p><p>Dean didn’t slow his speed, not even when he exited the building and strode off through the darkened remains of the amusement park towards where they’d left the Impala.  “Sympathy time is over.”  Dean turned his head to continue yelling over his shoulder.  “I mean it, Sam.  Expect no mercy from me.  I’ve got a list.”</p><p>Sam huffed an unimpressed scoff.  This ought to be good.</p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Dean continued.  “I’ve had <em> years </em> to come up with this stuff, but never really had a reason to inflict it on you.” Dean turned back to his brother, walking backwards with a glare.  “<em>Yet</em>.”  </p><p>Sam shot him a bitchface.  “Really, Dean?”</p><p>“Yup!”  Dean popped the ‘p’ before spinning back around to watch where he was going.  Gingerly stepping over the frame of one of the collapsed rides, he called back over his shoulder, “I’m gonna make a mix tape of the <em> IT </em> soundtrack and play it in the Impala every day.  I’ll even keep balloons inside my Baby just for you, and I’m gonna tape Tim Curry’s face to your side of the dashboard.”</p><p>By now Sam could hear the smile in his voice, and he fought to keep his own composure.</p><p>“Oh, I’m serious, Sammy.  Prepare to have pictures of clowns bombarding you every day from now on, little brother.  Hell, I’m gonna wake you up every day this month in clown makeup.”</p><p>Unable to hold it back any longer, a snort of laughter escaped from Sam.</p><p>Dean, meanwhile, didn’t once break stride as he continued listing new horrible things to do to Sam in retaliation, turning around to walk backwards for a few steps when he’d suggest each one.  “I’m gonna stop at every McDonald’s we drive by for the next year.  I’m gonna record calliope music on my phone and play it at all hours of the night.  I’m gonna make sure to buy you every clown doll I can find, and you’re gonna have so many of them hiding everywhere you’ll be finding them in all the pockets of your pants.”</p><p>By now Sam was laughing so hard he was having trouble keeping upright, staggering left and right under the weight of the bag that was still hanging over his shoulder.</p><p>Not even bothering to hide his shit eating grin, Dean slowed his pace to allow Sam to catch up with him.  Throwing his arm around Sam’s shoulder in a false moment of camaraderie, he leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “I’m going to buy a clown mask and put it on the pillow next to your face every night so it’s the first thing you see when you wake up.”</p><p>Sam shoved him away, still chuckling, as they reached the Impala.  “You’re such a jerk.”</p><p>Faking a look of hurt, Dean opened the trunk so Sam could dump the weapons bag inside.  “Don’t be a bitch, Sammy.”</p><p>Sam rolled his eyes as they climbed inside the car.  “Are you done yet?”</p><p>Dean shrugged, smirk back in place, and started back to their motel.</p><p>“You know, you think about clowns way too often for it to be healthy, Dean.  Is there something you’d like to tell me?”</p><p>“I’m gonna hire a clown for your birthday, Sammy.  Just you wait.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So...Joyland really exists. And so does Louie the Clown. And Ol' Porky. Look them up! You won't be disappointed =D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Don't Say Goodbye</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt 8: Don't Say Goodbye</p><p>Summary: Dean misses Sam, and he discovers something even more horrifying than the idea of Sam being stuck in Hell.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Alright, time to learn about carburetors!”</p><p>At the blank look he received, Dean gestured wildly to the engine.  “It’s the most important part of the car!  It’s what keeps Baby running!”</p><p>Burying his head back under the hood, he continued his lecture.  “A carburetor keeps the engine fueled.  An engine runs on gas—”</p><p>“Well, yeah….”</p><p>“Hey.  Keep the sass to a minimum.  An engine runs on gas and air.  The gas basically explodes inside the engine, and the airflow keeps the fire going inside the car, and that’s what runs the engine.  With me so far?”</p><p>“Mmhm.”</p><p>Dean’s eyes lit up, an easy smile spreading across his face as he continued, clearly in his element.  “There needs to be a perfect balance when running an engine, otherwise the car will sputter and die.  So that’s where the carburetor comes in.”</p><p>He leaned further in, gesturing to the part he was describing.  “See here?  This part lets air into the tank.  There’s valves inside that allow the air to speed up or slow down, depending on how fast or slow you’re trying to drive.  Make sense?”</p><p>“I guess so.  But why does the car need air?”</p><p>“Two reasons.  First, a fire needs air to breathe.  If you light a candle and then cover it up with a bowl, the fire goes out.  Second, the air actually pulls gas through this second pipe on the carburetor, here.  There’s a floating thingy inside that regulates how much gas is allowed in the tiny tank inside, kind of like the tank of a toilet.”</p><p>“What?  <em> Ew….</em>”</p><p>Dean snorted.  “No, not the gross part of the toilet.  The clean water in the back that refills the toilet after you flush it.  The air flow goes so fast that it pulls gas through the second pipe, and they combine to flow into the engine at just the right amount to power up my Baby.”</p><p>“...Uh huh.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, okay okay.  I’ll test you later.  Basically, the carburetor helps the engine run, especially when you start the car, and when you want to accelerate real fast on all those backroads where the speed limit is whatever the hell you want.  But if the carburetor isn’t kept running smoothly, then the car starts acting up.”</p><p>“That’s why the car sounded weird when you started it?”</p><p>“Exactly.  I probably just need to adjust something called the choke plate.  Hand me that flat head, will you Sammy?”</p><p>Silence met his request.</p><p>“Hey.  Give me the screwdriver, Sam.”</p><p>Another pause, and he extracted his arm from where he’d been gripping the side of the carburetor, and used it to push himself up and out from under the hood with a frustrated grunt.  “C’mon, man, I know engines are a foreign language to you, but I figured you’d at least know the difference between basic <em> tools </em>, S—”</p><p>He froze, the world suddenly grinding to a halt around him.  Standing on top of a little white stool next to his vehicle was a very confused Ben.  </p><p>Ben had been helping him with maintenance on his pickup truck.  </p><p>Sam had been gone for six months.</p><p>“Dean?”</p><p>Dean’s breath stuttered in lungs that felt as though they’d frozen solid inside his chest.  His vision shuddered and darkened at the edges, and his hands were shaking hard enough to vibrate all the way up his arms.</p><p>“<em>Dean!</em>”</p><p>A panicked little voice shouted next to him, and he distantly felt a tugging at his sleeve.  It jarred him back to reality enough to focus on forcing a single word out of his trembling lips.</p><p>“Inside.”</p><p>His order was immediately followed, and once he heard the front door slam, Dean spun around, stumbling into the garage and immediately shutting the garage door behind him.  He wrenched the tarp off of Baby so fast it smacked him in the face on the way down, but he barely felt the sting on his cheek where the rivet had struck him.  His breathing was quickening, and he struggled with Baby’s handle before he wrenched the door open with a desperate growl, all but diving into her front seat and slamming the door shut.</p><p>Gripping the steering wheel tight enough to make his knuckles ache, Dean rested his head on his forearms, fighting against the tears he could feel pressing against his eyelids.</p><p>Flashes of his life began to flow through his mind.  Salting breakfast instead of doorways and windows.  Waking up with a woman in his arms instead of seeing an arm extended over the side of the bed next to his.  Showing up to work and being called Dean and not “Officer” or “Agent” or “Mister” or “Ace” or “Idjit” or “Jerk”—</p><p>The first sob tore through him, taking him by surprise.  It was followed by another, and another, until he was a shaking, dripping mess.  He let it happen at this point, too overwhelmed to be able to stop it as his emotional state crumpled in on itself like a crushed soda can.  He rode the waves of intense grief instead of fighting them, and eventually found himself on the other side, soaking wet and, well, not worse for wear, but definitely not feeling any better.</p><p>He fumbled through the glove compartment, pulling out a fast food napkin to clean his face.  Scrubbing all over his face, he dropped the sopping mess on the seat next to him, needing another one to finish the job.</p><p>With a shuddering sigh, a few more stray tears managed to escape.  “Dammit.”  He grabbed another napkin, wiping them away.  He could just imagine how Sam would react to seeing his big brother having this mortifying breakdown of a chick flick moment in the car by himself.</p><p>He glanced at the empty passenger seat next to him, unwilling to acknowledge the rush of memories brought on by looking over to that side of the car.  They all snapped through his mind faster than he could fully comprehend them, and, barring the few times his dad or Bobby or even Cas had ridden shotgun, they were all of Sam.</p><p>Fighting against the surge of fresh tears in his eyes, he slammed his fist on the seat back next to him.</p><p>“<em>Fuck!</em>”</p><p>His gaze fell on the still-open glove compartment.  Chuckling humorlessly, he felt a sudden deep longing surge through his core.</p><p><em> Sammy</em>.</p><p>He slid across the bench seat, absently rubbing at the spot where he’d struck the seat back.  <em> Sorry, Baby. </em>  He reached inside the glove compartment, feeling around.  He shoved the extra IDs and FBI badges out of the way, a singular goal in mind.</p><p>His hand withdrew, holding one of their old burner phones.</p><p>Glancing around the garage before realizing how stupid that was, he eyed the old blackberry with a nostalgic smirk and powered it on.</p><p>He pressed 1 on the number pad, hoping this was still how it worked, and held the phone up to his ear after confirming on the phone’s tiny screen that he’d dialed the voicemail system.</p><p>He listened impatiently through the automated menu, waiting for the number to press to listen to the saved messages.</p><p>The first of the messages started playing, and his own voice piped up, cheerfully recounting about a successful interview with some hot next door neighbor to the victim in whatever case they’d been working on.  Dean realized immediately that he was listening to the messages on one of Sam’s old phones.  Disappointment surged through him.  He’d been hoping to hear Sam’s voice.  But as the next voicemail started up, he stilled, listening to an unfamiliar person speaking.</p><p>
  <em> “Hi Sam, it’s Lanie.  Again.  I just wanted to say thank you, again, for saving me and my baby brother.  I don’t know what I would’ve done if anything had happened to him….  You’re my hero, Sam, and I’ll never forget you.” </em>
</p><p>Before he had time to react, the phone started playing the next saved message.</p><p>
  <em> “Saaaaaaaaaaammmmmmm……...ohhhhhhhh gaaawwwwwwwwd…...I need...oh god I’m gonna puke.  Please Sammy, I need druuuuuugs.  Coffeeeeee...and maybe some crackers.  Ohhhhhh my heeaaaaaaad...no woman is worth thisssss……….Sammyyyyyy save meeeeeeeee……” </em>
</p><p>Dean was startled into a laugh, and he found he didn’t mind listening to these.  It was like a peek into the past, and it wasn’t something he’d ever indulged in before.  He always hung up his phone after listening to his voicemails, letting them stack up in his inbox and then consequently he’d grumble about them as he skipped over them one by one if he needed to listen to something specific, but he never took the time to go through them and delete the old and unnecessary ones.  He’d just let his phone delete them automatically as the mailbox got too full.</p><p>
  <em> “Hi, Sam!  It’s Susan.  It’s been quite a while since we’ve been in touch, but...well...Tyler’s been having nightmares.  About her...ghost...friend?  And I’m not sure what to do for her.  It’s not like I can take her to a shrink and explain what really happened, hahaha.... </em>
  <em>I guess...you’re the only one I feel would understand, you know?  I’d really appreciate it if you’d give me a call back.  I know I don’t have any right to ask, since you’ve already done so much for us, but I didn’t know who else to call.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hey, man, I’ve been outside for like ten minutes.  Get your ass moving, how long does it take to put some damn books away?  Oh wait there you are.  ‘Bout time!”  “Shut up, Jerk.” </em>
</p><p>Dean’s spirits lifted all the more upon hearing that brief moment of Sam’s annoyed voice in the background, before past-Dean had snapped his flip phone closed and ended the voicemail.</p><p>
  <em> “Sam, it’s Bobby.  Got a lead on that monster you were asking about, and I gotta tell ya, it’s not what I was expecting.  Give me a call back.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hey, Bitch, just got done at the morgue.  Let me tell you, the eucalyptus tree they had down there was not NEARLY enough to cover the stink of that ripe body.  I’m heading back to the room to shower about eighty times and burn my suit because hell if I’m smelling like bloated half eaten dead guy before I have any food tonight.  So take your time but I’m already starving so don’t you dare eat without me.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Dammit, Sammy, answer your damn phone!  I swear to god, Sam, this day is already bad enough, but if I have to track you down and save you from a goddamn zombie doctor, I am gonna be so pissed off!  …...Son of a bitch!  Just...don’t die, okay?” </em>
</p><p>He remembered that one with a shiver as a cold chill washed over his body.  It was the last voicemail he’d ever sent before he was pulled down into Hell.</p><p>
  <em> “Sam?  It’s Bobby.  I know, uh...I know Dean’s death is still pretty fresh, but he asked me to look out for ya, and damn if I really miss you boys.  Even if you don’t come see me, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know how you’re doin’.  Just...aw, hell.” </em>
</p><p>Dean’s heart sank.  That message had been dated less than two weeks after he’d died.  Which meant Sam had been alone far longer than he’d ever imagined.</p><p>
  <em> “Detective Page?  Or...whoever you are...I guess I never found out if that was your real name….  Anyway it’s been a year since you convinced me to let Callie go, and it’s been the first year since her hospitalization that I have truly felt at peace.  And...I’ve been thinking about the role you played in that, and I just wanted to thank you for giving us both closure.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Good afternoon, this is a message for Sam Smith.  We have you on record as primary contact for one of our patients, Stephanie Jameson.  Unfortunately, it would seem that Ms. Jameson’s condition has taken a turn for the worse.  If you could give us a call back as soon as possible, we need to discuss Ms. Jameson’s continued care options.” </em>
</p><p>‘Ms. Jameson’?  Who the hell was that?  And why would Sam be her primary contact?</p><p>
  <em> “Damn it, boy, I didn’t ask for a damn sob story or a novel, just...pick up the phone.  I need to know you’re alive, at least.  Please.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sam, it’s Ruby.  You’d better not be at that house trying to kill yourself fighting Lilith, dammit.  If I find you dying on the floor I’m leaving your ass there.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I...this is Sam, right?  ...I-I know you said to call if I needed anything, but this just feels so ridiculous…….I...I can’t sleep.  Every time I fall asleep it feels like I’m the backseat driver to my own body again and I see my own hands ripping those people apart and...and you said this happened to you, but how...h-how long does it take?  How long does it take before you feel safe in your own skin?  I feel like I’m losing it and I don’t know what else to do and you’re the one who pulled that thing out of me so you have to know, right?  You’ve gotta have the answers, because I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t….” </em>
</p><p>Suddenly the previous voicemails made sense.  Sam had begun to use his demon powers to save hosts from their demons, and he’d already started tracking down Lilith.  This voicemail shot guilt straight through his gut.  Hearing some stranger admitting what possession felt like to Sam, begging him for understanding and empathy, knowing Sam had made that connection with them already...god, Dean had just taken it for granted that Sam would get over it back when Meg had stolen his body.  But just this tiny glimpse into how it must’ve really felt….A new understanding for why Sam had pushed so hard to save these innocent victims of possession started to form, and he felt physically ill that this revelation was happening too little, too late.</p><p>
  <em> “Sam, it’s Bobby.  Sam, call me back.  I don’t understand how, but….call me.  Now.  It’s about Dean.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hey, Sammy.  It’s me.  For real.  Not sure where you are or how you pulled it off, but I’m back.  Call me at Bobby’s, okay?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hey, Sam, I wanted to thank you for calling to check up on me after...after everything.  It really feels great knowing a hero like you is still out there, someone who really cares.  Sorry for being such a sap, but...I think I kinda love you, hehe.  You’re my hero, and I can’t thank you enough for saving me.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Where the hell did you go?  I thought you were out getting breakfast or something, but it's been at least an hour.  Move your ass, Sammy, and bring me some donuts.  And don’t forget the coffee!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Good afternoon, Agent Watts.  This is Mavis, Clarence Higgins’ wife.  I just wanted to thank you for your kind words during your meeting with me yesterday.  I know I went on and on about my late husband, but it means the world to me that you were willing to sit and listen to an old lady’s rambling.  Keep being kind, dear.  The world needs more men like you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak.  Dad always said I’d either have to save you, or kill you.  Well, I’m giving you fair warning...I’m done trying to save you.  You’re a monster, Sam.  A vampire.  You’re not you anymore.  And there’s no going back.” </em>
</p><p>Dean was frozen where he sat, his heart beating in his ears.</p><p>What…</p><p>What the <em> fuck</em>…</p><p>
  <em> “End of messages.  To listen to your messages, press 9.” </em>
</p><p>Dean snapped out of his daze, fumbling with the phone to hit the correct button.</p><p>
  <em> “First saved message.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hi Sam, it’s Lanie.  Again.  I just—” </em>
</p><p>Dean cut off the voicemail, skipping over each one in turn, speeding through the time period before his year was up, the time period after his death, and the time period after his revival.  He had just skipped over the sweet little old lady’s message when his own voice, twisted and dripping with furious hatred, started right in with angry gusto, beginning immediately with name calling but using the wrong one and the voice doesn’t <em>stop</em> the voice isn’t <em>stopping</em> when did this <b><em>happen</em></b> he would <b><em>never</em></b><em>...</em></p><p><em> Why was this </em> <b> <em>saved</em></b><em>, Sammy? </em></p><p><em> How many times did you listen to this thinking it was </em> <b> <em> me</em></b><em>? </em></p><p>And then before the voicemail system could end its cycle once more he hit the replay button and this time he actually paid attention to the date.</p><p>
  <em> “Message received May 14th, 2009.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Listen to me, you bloodsucking—” </em>
</p><p>The phone fell from his suddenly numb grip, and he sat up abruptly, hands scrambling at the door handle before he leaned his head outside Baby’s door, just in time to puke his guts out.</p><p>When it was all over, he just sort of hung there, trying to control his breathing.  His hand trembled as he swiped his sleeve across his mouth.  He was just shy of hyperventilating, and he was shivering in a flop sweat.</p><p>But he barely noticed any of that, because he couldn’t stop thinking about what that message meant.  That Sam had received it, and listened to it, and believed it, and <em> saved it</em>….</p><p>Because that message was <em> intentionally saved </em> in the midst of the mundane and the teasing and the hero worship and—</p><p>Oh god...oh god oh god <em> ohgodohgodohgod... </em></p><p>Sam had gone to Hell thinking Dean had said all those terrible things, thinking Dean believed them, thinking Dean saw him that way—</p><p>His gut twisted with a fresh spike of guilt and horror and his throat clogged and he was choking on deep gasps for air as sobs tore from his chest and his eyes were streaming tears as he rocked back and forth in Baby’s front seat, unable to be comforted by the feel of <em> home </em> because his real <em> home </em> wasn’t there, not anymore....</p><p>It was definitely not the first time Dean had broken down since Sam took that eternal jump.</p><p>But this time was filled with more despair and horror than he ever thought possible.</p><p>Because of all the things his little brother excelled at and all the ways Sam surpassed him, being in Hell was never supposed to be one of them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dedicated to my lovely wife <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dontknowmyname/pseuds/Dontknowmyname">Dontknowmyname</a>.  Love you!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt 8: A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day</p><p>Summary: Sam's been having the worst day...he's just ejected Gadreel <em>and</em> Crowley from his body, discovered that Dean tricked him into being possessed, and his body was tortured in an attempt to get rid of the angel who'd taken his body on a killing spree.  He's pissed, Cas can't quite heal everything, and Dean's trying to leave him behind.  And then...and then, apparently, things <em>can</em> get worse.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Come on, man.  Can’t you see?  I’m...I’m poison.  Sam, people get close to me, they get killed...or worse.”</p><p>They were standing under some sort of awning on the dock they’d ended up on, but the mist from the gentle rain was settling on them and it glistened on Sam’s face, a mockery of the tears that he was obviously fighting against.</p><p>“You know, I tell myself that I-I help more people than I hurt.  And I tell myself that I-I’m doing it all for the right reasons, and I...I believe that.”  </p><p>Dean found himself barely able to spit the words out, struggling through the mire of self-doubt and the misery that he knew was his own fault but there was just so much horror and grief and guilt piled on top of him that he couldn’t...he didn’t dare try to take on any of Sam’s crap too.  It would have crushed him to death, and he never could have escaped.  So he decided to run instead.</p><p>“I can’t...I won’t...drag anybody through the muck with me.  Not anymore.”</p><p>Sam looked at him straight on, his eyes flashing with anger, but it was more than that.  His eyes were dulled with pain, with hurt, with betrayal.  And Sam told him to go.</p><p>He wasn’t sure if it hurt or helped that Sam wasn’t stopping him.  Just as he was turning to leave, heart in his throat, Sam called after him, voice shaking, “But don’t go thinking that’s the problem, ‘cause it’s not.”</p><p>It stopped Dean in his tracks, mind foggy.  He didn’t have the mental nor emotional energy to deal with this, with trying to guess what Sam was getting at.  Without bothering to fully turn around, he called over his shoulder, “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“Dammit, Dean, I shouldn’t have to explain what you did wrong, what you...what...I….”</p><p>Sam trailed off mid-rant, and if there was ever a red flag, that was it.  Dean whirled around, taking in Sam’s hunched posture and pained grunts as he clutched at his head.  As Dean started back towards his brother, Sam’s right hand dropped limply down to his side, though his left stayed where it was gripping his hair tightly.</p><p>Dean briefly looked at Cas with concern, and Castiel started making his way over to Sam as well.  Rushing the last few steps as Sam started to falter on his feet, Dean gripped Sam’s shoulders as he tilted dangerously to one side.</p><p>Sam’s right arm made a sort of twitching movement, but it didn’t rise high enough to accomplish whatever he was attempting to do with it.  His left, meanwhile, dropped to Dean’s arm, gripping it tightly.</p><p>“Sam?  Sam, what’s wrong?”</p><p>Sam looked up at Dean’s voice, but his eyes weren’t quite focusing on his face.  He frowned, blinking in that way Dean recognized as his attempt to clear blurry vision.</p><p>“Dad?  Whassit?  Wha’s goin’on?”</p><p>An icy fear that had nothing to do with the drizzling rain slid down his back, causing Dean to shiver.  He involuntarily squeezed Sam’s shoulders tightly.</p><p>“Sam?  It’s Dean.  Talk to me, Sam.”</p><p>Castiel was standing nearby, waiting at a distance to see if he was needed, and Dean tilted his head at him to get his feathered ass over to help.</p><p>Sam batted at Dean’s hands with his left hand, his right arm jerking pathetically from where it was hanging at his side.</p><p>“Ge-offfff Dad.  Don’ <em> wan’</em>.”  His struggles caused him to overbalance, and his right knee buckled, causing Dean to cry out as Sam tipped sideways.</p><p>Thankfully Castiel was close enough to catch him, and together they lowered Sam to sit on the dock, long legs twisted awkwardly in front of him.  His head lolled on his chest, and his arms were both limp at his sides.</p><p>This time Castiel crouched in front of Sam, while Dean hovered anxiously next to them.  Pulling up the sleeve of his trenchcoat, Cas ducked his head in an attempt to make some semblance of eye contact with the semi-conscious man.  “Sam?  I need to touch your forehead for a moment.  It’s just to assess your condition.”</p><p>Not hearing an audible answer, Castiel gently tilted Sam’s chin up with one hand, searching Sam’s face for any recognition.  Sam’s eyes were nearly shut, and though the pain and confusion he was feeling were still evident, there was no sign that he could see who was speaking to him.  “Sam?”</p><p>Dean growled, anxiety getting the better of him.  “Just do it, Cas!”</p><p>Castiel shot him a glare, but did as he was told, apologizing quietly to Sam as he firmly placed his free hand onto Sam’s forehead.  His eyes shut in concentration, his fingers twitching as the soft glow of grace flowed into Sam.  After a few seconds, Cas’ face visibly paled and his eyes flew open.  He turned to give Dean a fearful look.</p><p>Dean had long since run out of patience.  “What, Cas?!  What’s wrong with him?  <em> Dammit</em>!”  He dove forward to stop Sam’s fall as he started to slump out of Castiel’s grip, his eyes fluttering.  He kept an arm wrapped across his brother’s chest, and the other pressed on Sam’s back to steady him.</p><p>Castiel repositioned the hand under Sam’s chin, tilting his head upright again.  The angel pressed his hand more firmly to Sam’s forehead, grimacing.  When he replied, his voice was strained and laced with urgency.  The glow under his hand stuttered and dimmed.</p><p>“He’s experiencing a brain bleed.  I’m attempting to seal off the source, but he’s already lost enough blood for it to become dangerous.  I….”  He trailed off, eyes closed and face a look of intense focus.  “There.”  He breathed a sigh of relief.</p><p>Dean’s stress level was through the roof.  “Talk to me, Cas!”</p><p>Cas was breathing heavily.  “I don’t have enough grace to repair the damage or remove the blood, but I repaired the bleed.  Dean, he needs a hospital.  <em> Now</em>!”</p><p>The angel’s sudden shout caused Sam to startle, and he moaned at the sudden movement.  “‘Kay, Dad.  ‘M up.”</p><p>Dean jumped into action, gently pulling a groaning Sam to his feet.</p><p>Sam looked disgruntled, and did his best to pull away, but it was uncomfortably easy for Dean to restrain him and pull him towards the Impala.  Sam’s attempts to walk were hardly noticeable, and under any other circumstances Dean would have jumped at the chance to give his little brother crap for not pulling his own weight, but in this instance it only made him feel sick to his stomach as he tried desperately not to remember the last time he’d dragged a nearly comatose brother to the Impala.  The only bright side he could see was that Castiel was there to help this time.  If he hadn’t been there to lend his angelic strength, Dean would have had to fireman carry his huge brother all the way to the car.  He refused to think about what could have happened to Sam if he’d just left without turning around….</p><p>Halfway there, Sam went fully limp, nearly giving Dean a heart attack and causing him to slip on the wet surface of the dock.  Castiel immediately compensated for the extra weight, slapping his hand back to Sam’s forehead in a rush.</p><p>Dean slipped Sam’s arm over his shoulders, hitching his brother further upright, watching Castiel’s face for any sign of news, good or bad.  The angel grace faded once more, and Castiel started them forward again.</p><p>“He’s alive.  It was all too much for him.  His condition has not worsened much, Dean, but we have to hurry.”</p><p>As soon as they made it to the car, they all but threw Sam inside, only pausing long enough to tuck one of the spare blankets under Sam’s head before Dean was skidding out of the parking lot.  Castiel was kneeled backwards on Sam’s side of the front seat, keeping his hand pressed to Sam’s forehead the entire way to the hospital.  Dean’s eyes flickered back and forth between the road and his brother’s limp form, the faint glow of angel grace reflecting in the rearview mirror right as he cut in front of an ugly green sports car to screech to a halt at the emergency room doors.</p><p>“Cas!”  He shouted, even as he wrenched his door open and yanked his brother down the bench seat by the ankles.</p><p>The angel appeared at his side, helping to drag Sam’s limp body through the hospital doors.</p><p>The next several hours were a whirlwind of pacing, angrily punching the wall in three separate waiting rooms, drinking too many cups of coffee-flavored sludge, and endlessly harassing the nurses for any bit of news about his brother.</p><p>By the time a tiny woman in blood-covered scrubs appeared, Dean was nearly beyond speech.  The sight of his brother’s blood all over the doctor’s arms made him want to puke, but at Castiel’s concern he shoved a fist over his mouth and held up a hand to signal he’d push through it.</p><p>“He’s alive,” the doctor mercifully said first.</p><p>Dean slumped with relief.</p><p>“How is he?”  Cas prompted.</p><p>The doctor led them over to take a seat on the row of empty chairs, standing next to them with her arms crossed.  “The patient, Sam, was it?”  At Dean’s nod, she continued, “He had signs of what I can only describe as a hemorrhagic stroke.  However, there was no visible trauma in our initial CT scan, and no obvious source of where the blood came from in the first place.</p><p>“Because he did have excess blood in his brain from <em> somewhere </em>, we do need to keep him admitted for the next day or so to check him over and run the usual round of tests we’d normally give to a stroke patient.  There’s possibilities of speech impairment, a loss of motor skills, memory loss, or changes in behavior, not to mention the possibility of something more severe, such as a brain tumor or blood clots travelling from his lungs or his heart.”</p><p>Dean could feel himself becoming more and more pale as she continued talking, and he tightly clasped his hands together to prevent them from visibly shaking.  He felt like he was trapped in fog, and the oppressive feeling of worry and disbelief compressed his chest until it felt like he could barely breathe.</p><p>“We’re going to need a rundown of his medical history, so we have some clues to look for, such as whether he’s had a history of sleep apnea, or if he’s had any illegal drug or alcohol overdoses or problems with high blood pressure.”</p><p>After a brief silence, Castiel nudged Dean gently, and Dean blinked, his mind speeding through the last few seconds before he caught up.  “Uh, no.  No, nothing like any of that.”</p><p>The doctor frowned, but not unkindly.  “Well, we’ll stick to our usual procedures, but in the meantime, he should be settled in a room by now, and I can take you back if you’d like to see him.”</p><p>Dean shot up so fast he felt mildly dizzy, and the doctor smiled and turned without another word.  Barely paying attention to his surroundings, Dean simultaneously felt like he’d been stumbling numbly behind her forever and that he’d blinked once and he was there already when she paused outside of a room.</p><p>“Like I said earlier, he’s already had a CT scan, but there’s a few more tests that we’ll need to perform on him throughout the night and probably through tomorrow.  If you don’t mind the constant interruptions, you’re welcome to stay with him.  He’s sleeping right now, but he seems to be quite the fighter.”</p><p>Dean nodded, not quite listening.  He just wanted to see his brother.</p><p>Seeming to sense his impatience, the doctor pushed the door open, ushering both of them inside.</p><p>Dean let Cas talk in whispers to the doctor as the rest of the world faded out, barely managing to land in the chair as his legs gave way next to Sam’s hospital bed.  With hardly a glance towards the various wires and machines around him, he smoothed Sam’s hair off his forehead, carefully avoiding the nasal cannula wrapped over Sam’s ears.</p><p>Gently picking up Sam’s limp hand, Dean clasped it tightly, lowering his forehead to Sam’s cool fingers.  Hoping he’d feel a squeeze back or even a twitch, he waited for several minutes before carefully placing his brother’s hand back on the bed, keeping a loose grip on his brother’s wrist and the comforting pulse beneath as he settled in for a long wait.</p><p>Hours passed, and Sam remained unconscious, even through blood tests and machines being wheeled in and out of the room to test who knows what.  Dean had long since stopped bothering to keep track of it all, trusting Castiel to help keep an eye out for anyone that seemed suspicious.  So far Dean had only been dismissed from the room once, and he’d taken the opportunity to use the bathroom and find a new source of caffeine.</p><p>It was when Dean was sitting in the hallway outside of Sam’s MRI, his head resting on the wall behind him, that the intercom crackled to life in the ceiling.</p><p>“<em>Would a Mr. Dean Sq—</em>”  The voice cut off abruptly, and a muffled cough that sounded suspiciously like a choked off laugh echoed in the hallway from the speaker, before the voice came back.  “<em>Excuse me.  Mr. Dean Squirrel...please report to the first floor registration desk.  Mr. Squirrel, please report to the first floor registration desk.  Thank you.</em>”  The broadcast cut off abruptly, but not before a snort of laughter came through over the intercom.</p><p>Dean rolled his eyes.  He knew immediately that he was the one being paged, and he knew who would be waiting for him downstairs.  The only question was whether he wanted to bother going down to see him.</p><p>Turning to look at Castiel, he raised his eyebrows.  “How much juice you got, Cas?”</p><p>Castiel opened one eye and peered at him, seemingly hesitating.  “Not much.”</p><p>Dean paused, weighing his options.  So far the angel had been resting up as much as he could.  Every time they were left alone with Sam after a procedure, Castiel would funnel a tiny bit of grace into Sam’s body.  It was slow going, but Cas seemed optimistic that things were looking better, slowly but surely.</p><p>Sam had remained stubbornly unconscious, but the doctors’ findings seemed to be agreeing with Castiel’s positive assessment, albeit...accidentally.  Every single test so far that Sam had been subjected to had been ruled out as a cause for his symptoms.  The doctors refused to give up, something which Dean gave them props for, especially since there was no way for them to find out that a demon poking pins into Sam’s brain had been the cause, but he was also getting nervous.  There was only so much time he could wait for Sam to regain consciousness, and the fact that they kept poking and prodding without so much as a twitch was really freaking Dean out.</p><p>“Do you mind staying with Sam while I go take care of business downstairs?”  Dean wasn’t nervous about leaving Sam with Castiel.  It was more the principle of the thing.  If Sam woke up and Dean wasn’t there, it would wound his Big Brother Pride.</p><p>“Of course.  Are you sure you don’t need assistance?”  Castiel’s eyes blazed blue for an instant before fading back to his vessel’s normal color.</p><p>Dean smirked, pulling the hilt of an angel blade into view from underneath his flannel shirt, safely tucked into the waistband of his jeans.  “Got it covered.  I’ll be back soon.  Call me if anything happens, okay?”</p><p>Cas nodded.  “Come back safely.”</p><p>Clapping the angel on the shoulder as he headed towards the staircase, Dean took the stairs by threes all the way down the six floors, taking the extra time to calm his breathing and gather his scattered thoughts.  He checked his watch, and was stunned to realize that Sam had been admitted nearly seven hours ago.  Scrubbing a hand down his face, he grimaced.  He’d really been out of it.  He knew it was more than just the guilt of the last several months.  It was also the way his brain was bending over backwards to compare this experience to the last time he’d been at a hospital with his dying brother.</p><p>At least this time he had a (semi-functional) <em> trustworthy </em> angel with him.  Hopefully Cas would regain enough mojo to heal Sam enough that they could finally get the hell out of here.  Hospitals were pretty much number one on his list of places he hated to be in.</p><p>As he rounded the corner of the last flight of stairs, he squared his shoulders, putting his game face on.  No more whining.</p><p>He found the registration desk easily enough, but as he’d scanned the lobby on the way over, he hadn’t caught sight of anyone he knew.  Clearing his throat at the guy sitting at the desk, he gave him a nod.</p><p>“Yes?  Can I help you?”</p><p>Dean gave a thin smile.  “I’m Dean.  I think you paged me?”</p><p>The young man was instantly beaming.  “You’re Dean!”</p><p>Leaning his elbow on the kiosk, Dean glanced around the room again.  “Yeah, yeah.  Where’s the guy?”</p><p>Instead of answering, the receptionist barreled on, clearly just barely holding back laughter.  “So is that your real name?  I am literally begging you to see your driver’s license.”</p><p>Dean took a quick step back.  “No,” he snapped, “You may <em> not</em>.”</p><p>Grinning unrepentantly, the kid pointed down the hall to his left.  “The guy who wanted to see you headed to the restroom before you showed up.  You’re welcome to wait here or go find him.”</p><p>Scowling, Dean stalked down the hallway.  He’d just barely resisted the impulse to pull out the angel blade, reminding himself that he was still in a public place and that open murder is generally frowned upon, no matter how goddamned annoying someone can be.</p><p>Kicking in the door to the men’s room, he stepped inside, seeing that all but one of the stalls were empty.  The satisfaction of it all sent a deadly feeling of calm through him, and he turned slightly to lock the door behind him.</p><p>“<em>Crowley…</em>” he sing-songed.  “Come on <em> out</em>, Crowley….”  Pulling out the angel blade, he spun it on his open palm before holding it tightly in an I’m-gonna-stab-you-straight-through-the-face grip.</p><p>The toilet flushed, and Dean crouched slightly, bouncing a bit in preparation for a one-on-one with the King of Hell.  As the door opened, Crowley didn’t even look at him as he stepped up to the row of sinks to wash his hands.</p><p>“Hello, Squirrel.  Looking as calm and relaxed as ever, I see.”</p><p>Dean shifted his weight, angel blade held out in front of him in both a defensive and an offensive stance, unsure what the demon was planning.</p><p>“What are you doing here, Crowley?”  Dean barked, voice echoing in the small room.  “I said the next time I see you—”</p><p>“Dead.  Yes, rings a bell, but let’s not dwell on the past, shall we?”  Crowley smirked at Dean’s reflection before turning to face him, hands held up in a gesture of surrender.</p><p>Dean didn’t move.</p><p>Crowley seemed unbothered, his eyes darting from Dean to the door.  “I trust Moose is on the mend?”</p><p>Flooded with rage, Dean surged forward, slamming Crowley into the wall between sinks, holding the angel blade tightly against his throat.  Crowley choked out a feeble protest, but did nothing to stop him.</p><p>“Sam is up there <em> dying </em> because of you!  You don’t get to even <em> think </em> his name!”</p><p>All at once Crowley’s eyes were blood red, and his voice was lacking all of its usual gravelly warmth.  “Do not even be<em> gin </em> to start casting any stones at me.  Might I remind you, oh hero, <em> you </em> begged <em> me </em> to help your brother, by any means necessary.  Am I correct?”</p><p>At Dean’s silence, Crowley continued, “And it worked, didn’t it?”  The red seeped from his eyes, reverting to his vessel’s natural brown.  “Now do lay off the suit, darling, I love this color.”</p><p>Dean begrudgingly released the demon, giving him a shove backwards into the wall for good measure before he took a healthy few steps away.  “What do you want, Crowley?”  He sighed, suddenly feeling the weight of the day pressing down on him.</p><p>Smoothing imaginary dirt from his sleeves, Crowley took his sweet time before answering, eyes flickering with amusement as Dean ground his teeth in frustration.</p><p>“Crowley!  I am <em> this close </em> to leaving!”</p><p>“There is a way to destroy Abaddon.”</p><p>This was not remotely what Dean was expecting, and he blinked, feeling as though he’d just run face first into a wall.</p><p>“...What?”</p><p>With a seemingly infinite amount of condescension, Crowley stuck his hands in his pockets, leaning forward and enunciating his words carefully as he repeated himself.  “There.  Is.  A.  Way.  To.  Destroy.  Abbadon.”</p><p>“Destroy Abbadon,” Dean spoke in unison with him, already losing patience.  “Yeah, yeah, I heard you.  I’m just not sure why that pertains to me, especially since the Knights of Hell aren’t exactly the dying kind.”</p><p>Crowley shifted his weight from one foot to the other.  Dean’s eyes flicked from Crowley’s face to his feet and back again, recognizing an anxious movement when he saw one.</p><p>“There is something that can kill a Knight.  It’s the weapon that the archangels used to execute them—The First Blade.”</p><p>Dean hesitated.  That sounded...really badass.</p><p>Seeming to sense Dean’s interest, Crowley elaborated.  “I’ve been chasing that blade for decades.  The closest I got to it was when one of my minions caught wind of a protege demon of Abaddon’s who claimed knowledge of the blade.  Sadly, that demon is no longer with us….”</p><p>Dean’s eyes all but glazed over, but something caught his attention.  “Wait...demons spying on other demons about an angel weapon that can kill big mama demons?  This sounds like it’s 100% <em> your </em> problem, not mine.  Why else would you show up barely a day after I warn you I’ll kill you if I see you again?”  At the sudden silence in the room, Dean leaned forward, a dangerous smile curling his lips up as he answered his own question.  “You’re desperate.”</p><p>At Crowley’s sputtered “How <em> dare </em> you?!” Dean started talking over him.  “The question is why.  Why would a demon need a human to find an angel weapon to kill a demon?”</p><p>Suddenly on edge, Dean swung up his angel blade, not willing to take any more chances.  “Whatever you’re trying to pull over on me, it’s not gonna work.  You can do your own dirty work, Crowley.  Now get the hell out of here.”</p><p>Crowley’s face had reddened with fury.  “Damn you, Winchester.  Mark my words, you’ll regret this.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, get in line.”  Dean waved him off, already turning his back on him to get back to his brother.  He’d been gone too long already.  He left Crowley spitting bile and hatred in the bathroom, his voice echoing before the room grew silent without anyone else exiting.</p><p>Dean made sure to tuck his angel blade safely away before he was within sight of any civilians.  Definitely no longer feeling charitable towards anyone, he decided the elevator would be a more prudent choice than passing by the idiot kid at the front desk again on his way to the stairs.</p><p>As soon as the doors shut and the car started moving, he sagged against the wall, exhausted.  His pocket vibrated, and he snatched his phone out to see who the message was from.</p><p>
  <b> <em>Dean</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Dean it’s me</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Castiel</em> </b>
</p><p>Dean rolled his eyes.</p><p>
  <b> <em>Sam is done with his mr. i</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>We are in the room</em> </b>
</p><p>Dean didn’t bother texting back.  The elevator dinged that he’d arrived on Sam’s floor, and he rushed back to the room just in time to meet the doctor.</p><p>“Ah, Dean.  I was hoping I’d be able to go over your brother’s results with you.  Let’s step inside.”</p><p>Dean entered the room, immediately honing in on the motionless body of his brother.  “Any change?  He wake up yet?”</p><p>Cas shook his head, and the doctor spoke up, “Dean, I’m sorry.  We’ve been keeping him sedated.  I wasn’t aware you didn’t know that.  We wanted to give him a fighting chance to recoup some energy and to keep him calm during the procedures and we have found it best this way in the long run.”</p><p>Dean deflated.  He wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved that Sam was merely drugged rather than slipping away from him again, or to feel royally pissed that he’d been led to worry this whole time for no reason.  He even thought about getting pissed at Cas for not telling him, but as soon as he'd thought it he dismissed it; Castiel had been using his depleted grace to focus on <em>healing</em> Sam, not <em>scanning</em> him.  Quickly deciding he just didn’t have the energy to be angry right now, he settled for simply nodding in response.</p><p>“Your brother’s blood tests and other exams have all had normal results.  There have been no visible signs of what could have caused his symptoms, and the damaged brain tissue that we could see in his CT scan when Sam was first admitted has already started to heal itself, as evidenced during his MRI.”</p><p>Dean said nothing, not daring to even think about glancing at Castiel.</p><p>The doctor continued, “My best guess is that he had an aneurysm burst, and it promptly sealed itself off.”  She shrugged apologetically, clearly frustrated with the lack of results, but still trying to reassure her patient’s family as best she could.  “There’s no sign of it now, and it’s an extremely rare phenomenon.  But, despite the odds, he is still alive, and I suggest we be grateful and leave it at that.”</p><p>Dean couldn’t help but scoff at her words, but she seemed to take it in stride, and tactfully ignored his outburst.</p><p>“The only thing we can do now is let him rest, and give him a physical and neurological exam when he is awake, to see if there have been any noticeable changes that we are unable to see just yet.”</p><p>The reminder that they weren’t necessarily out of the woods yet—as per usual Winchester luck—gave Dean an extra special swoop of anxiety in his stomach all over again.  What if Sam wasn’t <em> Sam </em> anymore...again?  Only this time irreparably?  Or he had some sort of memory loss?  Or physical repercussions?  What if they were never able to hunt agai—</p><p>Dean’s rambling panicky thoughts trailed off with the realization that the idea of having to quit hunting for his brother didn’t seem so bad, and he sank into his seat at Sam’s bedside, unintentionally dismissing the doctor, who gave a soft goodbye and a promise to check back later to an apologetic Cas.</p><p>Taking in Sam’s appearance, if he overlooked how pale he was, and ignored the oxygen and all of the other leads attached to his brother’s body, Sam could merely be sleeping right now.  Or...he could be irreversibly damaged, and it would all be his fault.  All of it.</p><p>Sucking in a shaky breath, Dean covered his face with his hands.</p><p>He’d done this to his brother.  <em> God, Sammy</em>…</p><p>Castiel, wisely, left Dean alone, and instead placed a gentle hand on Sam’s forehead, reaching out with his grace to determine where he could focus his dwindling powers.</p><p>His hand flickered no brighter than a firefly for a few seconds before the light faded away.  Castiel was breathing heavily and had to slap his hand against the wall to steady himself, and the sound caused Dean to look up at him.</p><p>“Dude, sit down for a minute.”</p><p>Castiel sank into the other chair at Sam’s bedside with a heavy sigh.  He took a few moments to catch his breath, and Dean’s attention shifted back to his brother.  Had Sam just…?</p><p>“I am sorry, Dean.  I am unable to do more right now.  My grace is no longer what it used to be.”  Cas sat hunched in his chair, staring at his hands morosely.</p><p>Dean wasn’t sure what to say.  Everything sucked.  “It’s okay, Cas.  Just...rest for now, I guess.  Recharge your batteries.  Maybe then you can give Sammy one big healing blast and that’ll fix everything,” Dean offered, hoping that this was both comforting and a compromise.  Man he was bad at this kind of crap.</p><p>“Mmmf.”</p><p>Dean’s head snapped over towards Sam so fast his neck popped.</p><p>“Sammy?  Hey.  You with me?”</p><p>Sam’s forehead scrunched, and he started to fidget, all signs that he was slowly regaining consciousness.</p><p>Dean smiled, feeling better than he had for hours.  “That’s it, Sam, time to wake up.”  He rubbed his hand up and down Sam’s left arm, and Sam frowned at the sensation.</p><p>“Ssssss.”</p><p>Dean froze.</p><p>“What was that, Sam?”</p><p>“Sssssst.  Puh.”</p><p>The dread was back.</p><p>“Sam?  Come on, buddy, open your eyes, huh?”</p><p>Sam shifted, his head rolling from side to side on the pillow, nose twitching at the feel of oxygen and the tube attached to his face.  Dean placed a hand on Sam’s head to hold him still, thumb absently tracing patterns across his forehead while he watched his brother anxiously.</p><p>Eyelids fluttering, Sam finally managed to force glassy, unfocused eyes to blink open.</p><p>Dean placed himself in Sam’s direct line of sight, smiling at him.  “There we go.  Can you see me, Sammy?”</p><p>At Dean’s words, Sam’s eyes lazily tracked in his direction, but he couldn’t seem to keep them still long enough to make eye contact.  His eyes crossed several times as they slid around in his head, seeming to look at everything around him but not taking in anything.</p><p>Dean, meanwhile, kept speaking quietly to him, waiting patiently for his brother to respond.  “Come on, man.  I wanna get out of here already.  If you’re just gonna ignore me, then how am I supposed to prove to your doctor that you’re cured, it’s a miracle, we can skip on out of here without a care in the world?”</p><p>Eventually, Sam’s gaze steadied, and he frowned up at Dean, opening his mouth but not quite making any sound.</p><p>Dean, however, was ecstatic.  Sam could see him.  He could hear.  He was <em> awake </em>.  Now that his brother had regained consciousness, Dean felt confident that they could get through anything and everything else.</p><p>“Hey, Sammy.  You gonna talk to me?”</p><p>Sam opened and closed his mouth, his expression growing more and more annoyed.</p><p>“Don’t push it, Sam.  You’re okay.”</p><p>Ignoring him spectacularly, Sam started to push himself upright, bucking against his brother’s presence over him.</p><p>“Whoa!  Slow down, Sam, you just woke up!”</p><p>“Geh...geh...tuh….”  Sam huffed in obvious frustration.  “Offfffff.”</p><p>Dean burst out laughing.  “Okay, okay, sheesh.”  He stood up from where he’d been perched on the side of Sam’s bed, taking a small step out of his brother’s personal space.  “You’re such a bitch sometimes, Sammy.”</p><p>Sam threw him a bitch face, and Dean felt another piece of normal click back into place.</p><p>“Ssss...uch…...juh...jerk.”</p><p>Dean grinned unrepentantly.</p><p>“It is good to see you awake, Sam.”</p><p>Both brothers jumped.  They’d been isolated in their own little world, and Castiel’s presence had been overlooked while Sam was coming back to himself.</p><p>Sam groaned, pulling his hands up to grip at his head.  Dean’s good mood deflated at the realization that Sam’s right hand was only lifted to shoulder height, while his left hand was successfully kneading at the headache he surely felt.</p><p>Dean pressed the call button, then sat his brother’s bed upright a little so that he could interact with the room a bit easier.</p><p>“Dee?”</p><p>Dean’s attention immediately snapped back to his brother, not having heard this nickname in literal years.  “Yeah, Sammy?”</p><p>“Wuh...wanna...go.”</p><p>Dean smiled softly, brushing Sam’s hair off of his forehead.  “Sorry, buddy, not yet.  Now that you’ve graced us with your presence, it’s time to let the doctors take over.  We’re not leaving until they give the say-so, and I’m not fighting them on it this time.”  His eyes shuttered, and Sam stilled, staring at his brother.</p><p>“Cl...oooose?”</p><p>Dean’s smile didn’t reach his eyes this time.  “Yeah, Sammy, this time it was close.”</p><p>Before Sam could respond, a nurse bustled into the room.  “Hey, you called—oh!  He’s awake!  Hi there, Sam, my name is Greg.  I’ll page your doctor shortly, she’d like to take a look at you now that you’re up and at ‘em.”</p><p>Sam simply stared at him, uncomprehending, and looked to his brother for assistance.  Dean squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.</p><p>“We’re gonna talk to the doctor, Sam.  He’s going to go get her.”</p><p>Sam nodded, grimaced, and gripped at his head again.</p><p>The nurse winced in sympathy.  “Headache, huh?  I’ll see what we can do about that too.  Be right back, okay?”</p><p>Dean nodded vaguely, full attention on his brother.</p><p>Sam was pushing at Dean’s arm, attempting to sit up again.</p><p>“Where do you think you’re going?”</p><p>“Gottaaaaaa.  Gottaaaa get.  Ouuuuuu.  Tuh.”  Sam’s left arm slammed down onto the bed in frustration.  “Outuh.”  He paused, breathing heavily, and slowly and deliberately enunciated, “<em>Out</em>.”</p><p>Dean sat down on the edge of Sam’s bed again.  “Sam, we’ve been through this already.  We’re staying to talk to the doctor.  Then as soon as they give the all clear, we’re out of here, okay?”</p><p>Sam stilled, making eye contact with his brother uncertainly.  “Puh...promisssse?”</p><p>Turning to Castiel, Dean answered, “Sam, with Cas as my witness, I promise that as soon as the doctor gives us permission, we will blow this taco stand.”</p><p>Castiel nodded solemnly.  “Yes, Sam, after we have eaten our tacos, we will be leaving.”</p><p>Sam snorted a laugh, immediately regretting it as the nasal cannula slipped out of his nose and tears filled his eyes at the sudden surge of pain in his head.</p><p>Dean slipped the oxygen back onto his brother’s face where it belonged, chuckling.  “Yeah, maybe don't do that again.”</p><p>Sam glared at him, roughly swiping the tears away before they could fall.</p><p>“Sam, I, uh, have something else I need to tell you.”</p><p>“Yuh...yeah?”  Sam forced out.</p><p>Rubbing a hand through his hair, Dean tried to organize his thoughts.  He really hated crap like this, but dammit, this was <em> Sam </em>, and he’d almost lost him because of his stupid inability to just talk to his own brother.  Not this time.</p><p>Steeling himself, he took a breath, jumping right into it.</p><p>“Sam, we’re gonna take a break.  From hunting.”</p><p>At Sam’s (and Castiel’s) shocked look, he quirked a half-hearted smile before continuing.  “Yeah, I really mean it.  You...well, <em> we </em> need a break, Sam.  You almost died, <em> again</em>, and...I don’t even know how much you remember.  But we’re gonna figure this all out, okay?  Together.”</p><p>Silence stretched, before Sam placed his hand on top of Dean’s.  Smiling softly, he replied haltingly, “Oh...okay, Dean.”</p>
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